


Marei

by Frenchcroatiansquid



Series: What If [5]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Rare Pairings, Theory Time
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-29
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-02-06 12:53:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12817947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frenchcroatiansquid/pseuds/Frenchcroatiansquid
Summary: Ever since her mother was killed during the Sack of King's Landing, Chataya's has been the only home Marei has known. After the Battle on the Blackwater, life at the brothel takes an interesting turn. Who is their new client, and why does Chataya want to keep Marei away from him so badly?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Everything belongs to GRRM.
> 
> Theory credits will go up in the end notes once the story is finished. (I've linked to some of them in my other fics, so if you go look, you'll probably find them.)

The sun was about to set as Marei made her way up the gentle slope of Rhaenys's Hill. From the top, she could see scavengers sifting through the muddy shore of Blackwater Bay, collecting scraps of metal and pieces of driftwood. Occasionally, one would pull a good piece of armor off a burned body, but their finds were getting smaller and smaller. Still, the tide was falling, and the price for decent metal was high. Marei knew most of them would keep working through the night.

Five days after the fighting had ended, the air still smelled of blood and charred bone. Most of all, the heavy odor of wildfire still clung to the air. The water of Blackwater Bay had burned for days, green flames consuming everything in their path as the current carried them past the waterfront and out to sea.

It was almost dark by the time she had made her way down again, but this was just the hour the foot of the hill came to life these days. A captain in a long green cloak nearly rode her down as she passed the Street of Sisters. _Drunk as a dog, that one. The only thing worse than a drunk soldier is a drunk soldier on a horse._ Marei drew her hood into her face. She couldn't say why, but the clanking of hooves on the cobblestones as the horse sped away sent a shiver up her spine.

She did not like coming to Flea Bottom at night, much less when the city was swarming with Lannister and Tyrell troops, but it was either this or facing Chataya's wrath. All she could do was hope nobody would pay her any mind in her coarse brown cloak and knee-high heavy boots.

The woman they called the Crone lived in an alley off the Street of Flour. There were perhaps hundreds of barbers in King's Landing who earned their coin setting broken bones and selling herbs and potions to the city's poor, but it was the Crone people called when a life was at stake, even in the richer parts of town. Some went so far as to claim the Grand Maester had once consulted with her on the right treatment for the Mad King's madness.

Whether that was true or not, over the years, the Crone had made enough money she could have easily afforded one of the manses by the Old Gate. But for whatever reason, she stubbornly refused to move to the other side of Rhaenys's Hill. _She's not staying in Flea Bottom out of the goodness of her heart, that much is for sure_ , Marei thought. The old woman charged a hefty fee for her services from both rich and poor alike.

The entrance to her home was blocked by two men playing cyvasse, but they let her pass without so much as looking up from their game. The Crone herself was sitting in front of her fireplace, peeling an orange with a dagger. Marei had to knock on the open door twice before she turned around.

“Chataya sends me. Her daughter has a fever... a corrupted wound that won't heal. She fears the rot may be spreading. We would have brought her here, but the girl is too weak to leave her bed.”

The old woman eyed her up and down before putting the dagger aside. “Is that so? And how would I walk all the way to the Street of Silk?”

Marei knew the game she was playing. “We can pay one of your guards to carry you,” she said coolly. “Don't worry. If you have to spend the night, you shall have the best room and the finest food we can offer.” _Though we won't be able to serve you oranges, I fear._

The Crone's mouth widened into a toothless smile as she pushed herself up from her armchair. “So long as your customers won't come botherin' me. You will have to pay me a dragon now though. Two more after I'm done.”

“ _Three_ dragons?”

“And another for my guard. The war has driven up the prices of food. I can barely feed myself.”

 _Ah, yes, I can see that_. But Marei was not in the mood for arguing. It was Chataya's money after all, not her own. “Very well. Four dragons, two now, two later – _if_ Yaya lives.”

The old woman shrugged. “Suits me fine. No girl's ever died under my watch.”


	2. Chapter 2

Marei washed the grime and dust of Flea Bottom off her face before slipping into a dress of emerald green silk held together at the waist by a clasp made of bloodstone. She had no time to braid her hair, so she only picked a matching necklace, put on her shoes and hurried down the creaky flight of stairs.

Someone was playing music in the common room. Between the city's residents celebrating the victory over the pretender and the armies of the Reach and the Westerlands in town, it was going to be a busy night – and they were short two girls. Alayaya was still too sick to work. _And Meya... Chataya never found replacement for Meya._

Marei took a quick peek through the small wooden door separating the elegant front area from the much simpler space in the back where the girls slept, ate and got ready for their shift. Their first customers for the night had arrived and were being entertained by Aemma and Ruby.

She was about to close the door when she noticed the gold cloak waiting in the corner. He was tall, with shoulder-length reddish-brown hair. She'd never seen the man before, but judging by his uniform, he was no ordinary man of the City Watch. 

Marei quickly shut the door, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach. _He'll just want money is all. Chataya will deal with him_. Still, she couldn't help but think of the day the gold cloaks had come for Meya and her babe, the sound of their boots on the stone floor, their horses neighing outside, the fear creeping up her spine.

 _It's what you get for claiming your child is a royal bastard. Some things are best kept quiet._ But Meya had been too dull-witted to understand such a simple truth and told every man, woman and child on the streets that King Robert was Barra's father. _Barra. She even named the girl after the fat fool_.

Chataya had sent _her_ to sleep with Robert first, but the king had thrown her out, yelling and screaming about how she reminded him of _that damned woman_. Marei didn't think she looked anything like the Queen, but Robert had cursed and thundered until Chataya had brought him another girl instead.

With her wild brown curls and her sweet, innocent eyes, Meya had instantly placated the king. Robert had shown himself from his most charming side, and that had sealed the girl's fate. _I wouldn't have been foolish enough to let him get me with child._ No matter how rich or high-born the man who spilled his seed inside of her, Marei _always_ drank her moon tea. _Unlike my own mother, I suppose._

Marei walked past the other girls getting ready for the night in the dressing room: Aimee painting her toe nails, Gemma braiding Dancy's hair, Jayde lining her eyes with coal, her mouth wide open.

The door to Chataya's study was ajar. The Crone had added spices to the fire in the hearth, but the smell of corruption still overpowered everything else.

Right in the middle of the room, Alayaya lay on a table, shivering, her skin shiny with sweat, biting down on a piece of wood as the Crone cleaned her back. Strips of bloody cloth were piling up on the floor next to her feet.

Chataya sat in the corner, watching in silence, her dress of bright red and orange silk shimmering in the candlelight. She briefly looked up as Marei entered, acknowledging her presence with a quick nod. In the darkness of the corner, her sandalwood eyes looked almost black.

The Crone pulled out a vial with a dark red liquid inside, adding a drop to a paste she'd prepared before applying a thick layer onto Yaya's skin. “There will be scars, nothing to be done about it. But this will prevent the rot from spreading and help bring your fever down.” She dipped the tip of her fingernail into the vial. “Open your mouth, child.”

Alayaya raised her head. Her eyes were glassy and distant as she sucked on the finger.

“There. That's good. Not too much.” The Crone pulled her hand back. “Best get some rest now, girl, This will make you feel ill, I fear, but it will consume the bad blood inside of you. I would not give it to you if I didn't have to.”

Chataya rose, her face expressionless. “This is the price we pay for taking the high lords' coin,” she told her daughter. “I expect you back at work as soon as you can lie on your back without staining the sheets.”

She turned towards Marei. “What do you want?”

Many of the younger girls were afraid of the tall, unsmiling woman, but Marei knew that as long as she obeyed and did her job, she had nothing to fear. “There's a gold cloak waiting outside in the common room. Someone best deal with him, or he'll scare away our customers.”

“Thank you.” Chataya sounded more tired than angry. “Help Yaya get back to bed. If anyone comes asking for me, tell them I'm busy.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

“Just two rooms left,” Marei said. “If we hurry, we can make it before sunset.”

Aemma was kneeling on the floor, trying to clean a stain off the marble in the fading light. “I'll do the room under the stairs,” she offered. She was still half a girl, younger even than Meya, but at least she had enough sense to understand that kings did not marry whores.

“Make sure there are fresh flowers,” Marei told her.

While the sun was still up, few men came visiting and even fewer could afford either of them, so on most days, they spent the afternoon running errands or inspecting the chambers to make sure nothing was amiss.

Most of the girls had joined Chataya's after they were women flowered and despised the menial labor, but Marei had grown up at the brothel and had helped keep it in good order long before she had ever spread her legs. There was comfort in the routine, and it almost made her feel like the place was her own.

“Aemma.” Neither of them had heard Yaya coming. After a week in bed, she was finally back on her feet, though the wounds on her back still looked ghastly. “Chataya needs you in the dressing room.”

Aemma got up. “I'm almost done. Just one more chamber-”

“She needs you now.”

Marei sighed. “Go. I'll take care of the rest.”

By the time she was done with the first chamber, it was almost dark. _Just one left. Best get it over with_. She hadn't entered the room under the stairs in years. The door was heavy oak, the kind that fell shut with a thud that could be heard throughout the house. Marei pushed it open.

The name itself was a misnomer. Only the entrance was under the stairway, the rest was wide and spacious. They didn't use it much anymore, but with the city coming back to life, there was no telling if they might need it after all.

Marei lit the candles hanging from the walls and placed an incense burner in the corner before smoothing out the bed sheets and placing a drop of scented water on each pillow.

Her eyes fell on the large closet with its carved wooden door in the back. _Hide_. Marei sat down on the four-poster bed, trying to push Chataya's voice out of her head. _Hurry up, hide in here, don't look outside._ It felt as though her four-year-old self was staring back at her through the holes.

“Keep your eyes closed,” Chataya had told her the day the red rider had come for her. “And whatever happens, _don't_ make a sound.” _If they catch you, they will kill you_. She remembered his long, red cloak and his heavy, iron-clad boots covered in mud and blood, his horse whinnying outside as his soldiers ran up and down the stairs, tearing apart furniture and smashing everything to pieces. And his _voice_. She would have recognized his voice out of a million others. “Find the girl,” he'd told his men after they had dragged in her mother's corpse, her flaxen hair stained red with blood. “ _Find her._ ”

Chataya later told her he would have burned the whole place down if she hadn't presented him with the body of another little girl with white-gold hair who had been slain during the Sack, one of the many dead the Lannister troops had left in their path.

The sound of metal hinges creaking jarred her out of the memory. Ruby was standing in the doorway, staring at her as if she had gone mad. “What are you _doing_? Hurry up!”

Marei got up and quickly smoothed the crease where she'd sat. “Nothing.”

 _Flowers,_ she thought as she followed Ruby out the door _. I forgot the flowers_. But it was too late now. She had to get dressed, or Chataya would cut all of their earnings again.

The dressing room was filled with the usual chatter as the girls got ready for the night. Chataya herself was plaiting Aemma's long, brown curls, skillfully weaving strings of pearls and colorful lace into her hair. The girl looked tense, biting her lips and fidgeting with the lace on her dress.

“Keep still.” Chataya slapped her hand.

Alayaya was helping her mother pin up Aemma's hair, her back turned towards the other girls, revealing stripes of raw flesh.

“Anybody do that to me,” Ruby said, brushing her long, auburn hair, “I'd make him pay.” She quickly moved her hand across her throat left to right.

“Yaya could track down the man who cracked the whip,” Dancy countered. “Pour poison into his ale or cut his throat in a quiet corner. But the man who _ordered_ the deed will be harder to kill.”

“Is _the Queen_ who ordered the whipping,” Jayde interrupted her.

“No, her _brother_ , the Imp. He asked for Yaya a dozen times. That's how they do it. First they want us to spread our legs, and then they have us whipped for it.”

“Or killed,” Aemma said softly. She was pulling at her dress again. “Whipped or killed or worse.” _Whatever Chataya is asking of her tonight has her scared for her life_ , Marei thought.

Part of it was _her_ fault. She had told the younger girl of the red rider once. That was right after the gold cloaks had come for Meya and her babe, and in hindsight, it had been a mistake. All it had done was frighten Aemma more. “Perhaps you're a king's daughter, like Barra,” she had said, more to comfort herself than anything else. “You're too old to be Robert's, but you could be dragon seed. You know King Robert wanted to kill all the Targaryens.”

Marei glanced in the mirror. _I could be a king's daughter_ , she thought. Her hair was almost light enough to match the pale silver of the blood of the dragon. But her eyes were green, not purple, and everybody knew that Mad King Aerys had been too mad to leave the Red Keep in his final years. _Still, they came for me the same day they killed the dragon princess and smashed her little brother's head._

The girls were still arguing back and forth about who had ordered the whipping. Only Alayaya, who knew the answer, and Chataya, who likely did as well, kept quiet, the daughter's face as expressionless as the mother's.

“Everybody knows the Imp died on the Blackwater. It was the _Queen_ ,” Jayde insisted.

“I'd rid the realm of _her_ if I had the chance,” Ruby said. “And her brother, the Kingslayer, and the King as well. He's an abomin-”

“Enough.” Chataya did not have to raise her voice to be heard. As soon as she opened her mouth, the others fell silent. “The next girl I hear speaking of killing anybody will find herself a beggar on the streets. Such talk has no place here.” She'd finished braiding Aemma's hair and took out a small brush to apply a dark red color to her lips as a finishing touch. “There. That should do.”

Aemma got up from her chair, turning around in front of the mirror. Instead of the lighter silks, she wore a gown made of heavy brocade with a golden flower pattern on a sea of green, laced in the back.

 _Growing strong_ , Marei thought.  _That's interesting._

“You look like a _lady_!” Dancy gushed.

“No. She looks like a _whore_ _pretending_ to be a lady,” Chataya corrected her. “The lords mislike a whore who dresses above her station and does it so well she has them fooled. Is best if the details are wrong.” She rose. “Aemma, Yaya, come, or we'll be late.”

“Who do you think is her guest of honor?” Ruby asked as soon as the three had left. “Someone important, I reckon, or Chataya wouldn't be here painting her lips and doing her hair.”

“The High Septon?” Dancy ventured, suppressing a giggle.

“Nonsense,” Jayde shook her head. “That man's too old. Have you seen him? He can barely walk. I say, it's the King.”

Ruby twisted her mouth. “The King is an abomination born of incest. Everybody knows it. Even _Chataya's gods_ understand it's a sin for brother and sister to sleep with each other. Is what doomed the Targaryens, she always says. We'd do well to rid us of the King and his-”

“Chataya is right,” Marei interrupted her. “Such talk has no place here. Besides, you're all wrong. Aemma's to please some lord or another. The city is swarming with them. A Tyrell bannerman fond of his liege's daughter, if you ask me. She was dressed in their colors.”

But Ruby wasn't done. “I'd kill Chataya too if I could,” she said. “That woman keeps talking about how those who are skilled at the art of love ought to use it to please the gods, but there's nothing pleasing about it to me.”

Marei shrugged. “Leave, then.”

“Oh, trust me, I would. She's threatening to kick me out, but the truth is, I'd leave gladly if only she'd let me. I saved up the money to repay what I owe her, but her price keeps going up. It's not right. Perhaps I should go tell the gold cloaks she's keeping me as a slave, see what she'd do when they come for _her_.”

“The price of food has been going up,” Marei said as calmly as she could. “And of most everything else as well. Besides, where would you go?”

Jayde did not have an answer to that. “Why are you defending Chataya?” She asked instead. “Why?”

 _Because she saved my life_ , Marei thought. _And she's the closest thing to a mother I've got._

 


	4. Chapter 4

The procession bringing food into the city was slow enough to follow on foot, and that was what half of Flea Bottom was doing. Occasionally, one of the men on the carriages handed down a loaf of bread or a small sack of oats to the a child stretching out her hands. That was just for show though. Most of the food was going to the royal granary, Marei knew.

Behind the carts carrying cheese, cured meats and casks of wine, the Lannisters and the Tyrells were parading their prisoners, all those who had been fortunate enough to escape death on the burning river. Lord Mace Tyrell and his sons rode in the front, basking in the cheers from the crowd, followed by their bannermen and sworn swords. The Lannisters had enough sense not to show their faces. _Not after what happened the last time they left the Red Keep._

Aemma was eyeing the lords on their horses nervously. “We ought to go back,” she said. “Chataya will need me ready by sunset. It's... I can't be late.”

 _Ah,_ that _one again._ “You still have half the day. I thought you might _like_ watching the parade.”

“I'm too old for mummer's farces,” said Aemma, and Marei couldn't help but smile inwardly.

“Tell me,” she said. “Who are you seeing that is so important that Chataya would get involved herself? One of the Tyrell bannermen?” _Oh, gods be good, I hope it's not Lord Mace himself lusting after his own daughter._ “The others placed a bet. It's only fair that you solve the mystery for us.” The truth was, the girls had long moved on and found better things to talk about, but Aemma's reluctance to speak about her customer had her curious.

“Chataya said they're going to slit my throat and dump me in the Blackwater with all the other bodies if I do.”

Marei looked at the girl biting her lips, her face pale. _She truly believes it._ “Is he _that_ dreadful?”

Aemma shook her head. “No. I can't talk about it is all.” She paused. “You were right. It's just like you always told me. It's best to stay away from kings and high lords.”

 _Perhaps Ruby was right after all, and it_ is _the king she's seeing_ , Marei thought. No wonder she was so scared. “Drink your moon tea, and you'll be fine,” she said. “It's only trouble when you give them a whelp and brag about it. I know you're smarter than that.” She held out her hand. “Come. Let's go back then.”

As they moved further and further away from the crowd, Aemma's face began to relax again. But when they reached Pisswater Bend, she stopped suddenly, doubling over in pain, trying to prop herself up on the clay wall of one of the many huts lining the street. Her face was ashen, sweat forming on her forehead. “Cramps,” she said once the bout of pain had passed. “Bad ones. I've been getting them all week, and they're getting worse. I... I've not... I can't go like this.”

“It's just the fear,” Marei told her, linking her arm with hers to steady her. “Stop worrying. I'm sure whoever it is you're serving is very pleased with you, or else he wouldn't have asked for you again.”

Aemma shook her head. “It's not fear. I'm not _feeling_ well. Please, can you go for me?”

Marei sighed. “Chataya picked _you_. She won't be pleased if you refuse to go.”

“I'm not _refusing_ ,” Aemma said stubbornly. “What if this happens while I'm with him?”

 _This is unlike her_ , Marei thought. There was a slight yellow tinge in the other girl's eyes that gave her pause. _She may be sick after all._ “Very well. I'll ask Chataya if I can go in your stead. But don't blame me if she gets mad at you.”

She found the dark-skinned woman in her study writing a note in large, clumsy letters. “Aemma isn't well. She may not be able to work tonight.”

“Ah.” Chataya nodded. Usually when one of her girls was sick, she would check on them and drag them out of bed if she suspected they might be feigning illness, but not this time. “Thank you for letting me know.”

“She said you might need her. I could go instead.”

Chataya put aside her quill. “That won't be necessary. I'll send Jayde.”

 _You think I won't be able to please him?_ “I promised Aemma I would go. You know I can keep a secret.”

Chataya glared at her. “ _You're not going._ Don't ever ask me again. And whatever you think you know, you'd do well to keep quiet about it.” She waved a hand at her impatiently. “Go fetch me Jayde.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

The gold cloak did not knock. He simply swept into the reception room and tapped his longsword on the floor impatiently until Marei looked up. “I'm here to collect the dwarf's penny.” He announced, his face twisting into a lewd smile. “Spread your legs for the dwarf!”

Marei, who had heard the same jest at least three dozen times, gave him an icy look. She counted the coppers Chataya had put aside for precisely this purpose before putting them in a small sack and sliding it across the table.

The Imp hadn't died on the Blackwater, as Jayde had claimed. The tax he had imposed on them was proof enough of that. It made little difference to the men who had the coin to visit Chataya's, but with the mood in the city already turned against the Lannisters, it wasn't _wise_. There was no point in lecturing the gold cloak about that though.

He handed her a slip of paper stamped with the royal insignia noting the amount, just like two weeks earlier, when a man of the City Watch had first come to collect the tax. Only this time, there was a small, unsealed scroll inside of the bigger parchment. Marei unrolled it. “ _Sunset_ ,” was all it said.

“What's this?”

The man shrugged. “Lord Commander gave it to me,” he said while counting the coins one last time. “Told me to give it to Chataya. Perhaps he's taken a liking to her and is sending her love letters. Hells do I know. They pay me to count, not to read. Just see that you don't lose it, or the Lord Commander will be wroth with me.”

 _And for good reason_ , Marei thought. _This is no love letter. It's a note from the man Chataya does not want me to see. Like as not your captain is as scared of him as Aemma._ “Don't worry,” she told him as she closed the door behind him. “I'll make sure she gets it.”

Chataya was with Aemma on her sick bed, holding her hair as the girl was retching up large brown chunks that made the room smell like a privy.

Aemma looked barely conscious even as her whole body was shaken by the violent cramps. The white of her eyes had turned a bright yellow, and even her skin had taken on a yellow tinge.

The stink was so bad Marei had to cover her face. _Mother have mercy, she's good as dead_. “Let me go to Flea Bottom,” she said. “Call the Crone.”

Chataya shook her head. “The Crone won't be able to help her. Once the sick retch up the contents of their bowels nothing can be done except pray to the gods. ”

“The old hag claims she's never lost a girl,” Marei insisted. “Time for her to live up to her boasts.”

“This is beyond her powers. She'd tell you the same. It's up to the gods now.”

Marei took another look at the dying girl. Aemma had sunken back on the bed, a feverish glow in her jaundiced eyes, mumbling to herself. “I... didn't... tell... Dancy _begged_ me... but I didn't... tell her... _Nobody_ knows.”

Chataya was stroking her hair almost gently. “I know... I know...” She turned towards Marei. “She thinks she's being poisoned.”

 _Aye_ , Marei thought. _Because you told her her secret patron would kill her if she told anyone about him, and now she's choking on her own shit._ “Could there be any truth to it?” She asked. “She was _frightened_ of that man.”

Chataya's face darkened. “Of course not. It's her fever talking. Don't you dare spread any rumors. Now tell me what you need and get out of here.”

 _Sunset._ “Nothing,” Marei said, almost surprised at how easy the lie came to her. “I just wanted to let you know the gold cloaks came to collect the dwarf's penny today. I'll leave the record in your study in case they try charging us again before it's time.”

She felt a pang of guilt as she threw the small roll of paper into the fire in the common room – guilt and _fear_. This kind of betrayal was something Chataya would not forgive if she ever learned of it.

 _She need not find out though. I'm just as good as any other girl she would send instead._ Marei had watched Chataya take Aemma and Jayde up to the turret room and knew exactly where she had to be at sunset. _There's something strange about all of this_ , she thought, _and I'm going to get to the bottom of it._

 


	6. Chapter 6

The door to the turret room was etched into her memory: solid wood curved into an oval shape at the top, painted a dull black to give it a look of unpolished ebony. The room could be locked from the inside, and that was what Marei intended to do.

With each step she took up the winding flight of stairs, the blood pulsing through her ears became louder and louder. _Whoever is on the other side of that door is just a man._ _They're all made the same – made the same and easy to please._ Chataya had whispered the words in her ear the first time she had to serve a highborn man, many years ago. _They're all made the same_.

Soft light was falling through the gap beneath the door – she had made sure to light all the candles herself. Her hand was shaking as she grabbed the handle and pushed. The familiar smell of myrrh and sandalwood hit her as she entered the room.

A tall figure stood by the window, looking out onto the Street of Silk through a crack in the colored glass. The man was facing away from her, but dressed in the colors of his house, his bald head reflecting the golden glow of the candles, there was no mistaking who he was. Marei had seen him from afar on his horse, riding up to Aegon's High Hill. _Savior of the City_ , she thought. _The people of this city still sing songs of how you_ saved _us during the Rebellion._

But there was no point in feeding her bitterness, much less _now_ – she had a job to do. “My lord.” She closed the latch on the door and made a bow: he could not see her, but it felt like the proper thing to do. “Chataya sends me.” When she took a step towards him, he raised a hand.

“You understand what is expected of you?”

 _He's just a man, made no different, easy to please_ , Marei told herself. Only Chataya did not want her to see _this_ man, and she had not the faintest idea what he expected of her.

“Did your mother fail to teach you manners, whore?” There was ice in his voice. “When someone asks you a question, you _answer_.”

“Beg pardon, my lord.” Her tongue felt dry and heavy. Sometimes she envied Dancy, and Ruby for their vacant eloquence, their ability to charm a man so effortlessly with nothing but words and smiles, teasing them relentlessly without ever offending them. Dancy's silver tongue would have been wasted on this man though. Marei took a deep breath. “I understand, my lord.”

“Good.” He swung around, taking a step towards her, and the moment she saw his face, she knew she had made a mistake burning the note. His eyes were cold, but there was a spark behind the pale green chips of ice she had only seen once or twice in a man before. Each time, she had run.

There were only a handful of men in King's Landing who liked to hunt girls like prey, deriving their pleasure from the pain and fear of their victims. Chataya refused them entry into the brothel, cursing them for so perverting the will of the gods. Once, a man who had beaten Yaya bloody had ended up in a bowl o' brown. But not even Chataya could protect her from the Hand of the King. _Gods be good, she gave him Aemma and Jayde._ Just knowing that was more unsettling than she could say.

Marei wanted to turn around and run for the door. _That's what he hopes for though, to drag me back and throw me on the bed and beat me senseless_. Her mouth tightened in sudden determination. No, she would not serve the likes of him by showing him the fear he craved. She would retreat behind her own wall of ice and watch him fail to get what he wanted. “Take what you need,” she said curtly, raising her chin and straightening her shoulders.

He stopped, the flash of violent lust fading from his eyes, and took a step back. Marei sent a quick prayer of thanks to the Mother above. But the scrutiny with which he eyed her up and down made her almost as uneasy as his predatory gaze. “Is something wrong, my lord?”

He ignored her question, continuing to study her instead. “Where are you from?” He finally asked.

“I was born in King's Landing, my lord, right here in this brothel.”

“When?”

“The year Prince Rhaegar was betrothed, my lord.”

“Where are your parents now?”

“I never knew my father. My mother died during... during the Sack, my lord.” _Killed by Lannister men, the men you failed to control. For all I know, you_ _yourself could be the red rider_. She looked at him from the side, trying to picture him in a long red cloak and heavy iron-clad boots. But his voice was different.

“A great many people died that day in the chaos and confusion,” Marei added softly. “Here. Let me help you undress, my lord.”

He raised his hand, turning away from her. “That won't be necessary. You are no longer needed. Tell Chataya she should have had better sense than to mock me. And tell her if she ever lies to me again, I will have her head, and her daughter's as well.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

“If the gods are good, we'll get a quiet night.” Gemma nodded towards the window. The milky glass blocked the view outside, but even the air inside the brothel smelled of rain.

Water had come pouring down from the skies for nearly a week, turning the streets and alleys of King's Landing into flowing rivers of mud and waste.

It had rained the day Marei had gone to see the Crone, ready to pay with her own coin so she would come and heal Aemma. But it was just as Chataya had predicted; the old woman refused to travel all the way to the other side of Rhaenys's Hill for someone she considered beyond saving, and neither sweet words nor threats could convince her otherwise. In the end, her guards had chased Marei away.

It had still been raining when the Silent Sisters had come to collect Aemma's body, wrapping her in layers of linen and burning sticks of incense to mask the smell of death and decay.

“A quiet night,” Gemma repeated as if speaking to herself. “I could use some rest.” 

“Oh sure,” Dancy said. “We'll get a good night's sleep. And in the morning, some lord will sweep in, marry me on the spot and I'll spend the rest of my days eating pigeon pie in a castle.”

Gemma gave a coarse laugh. “One can always dream.”

All of them knew perfectly well that, rain or no, Chataya's never stayed empty at night. If anything, the weather seemed to drive more men to the brothel. With Aemma gone and both Jayde and Ruby too sick to work, the remaining women were stretched thin.

Gemma turned towards Marei. “Chataya was looking for you earlier, sounded urgent. You'd best go see her, or she'll be in a foul mood for the rest of the week.”

Marei's stomach twisted. _She knows_ , she thought.  _Chataya_ knows _I went to the turret room. She knows the Hand of the King refused me._ No man had ever refused her – only Robert, the fool, but she wasn't sorry about that.

The Hand was a different matter though. _Chataya mocks me_ , his words kept echoing in her head. _If she ever lies to me again..._ For a few days, Marei had half expected the Gold Cloaks to come and kill them all. But a week had passed, and then another, and life at the brothel had continued as usual.

Confessing everything to Chataya had crossed her mind again and again, but no matter how she told the tale in her head, it always ended with the woman cursing her and chasing her away. _And where would I go? Work for Littlefinger?_ No. If Chataya truly knew what she had done, she would have to leave King's Landing for good.

“I'll go see what she needs,” she told Gemma, almost surprised by the calmness in her own voice.

Chataya was in her study, speaking with her daughter, softly but with an insistence that was palpable even across the room. “Go,” she told Yaya, who took off so fast she almost tripped over herself as she rushed out the door.

Marei had expected anger, rage, cold aloofness perhaps, but when Chataya turned around to face her, all she could see in her eyes was sadness.

“There's a man waiting for you upstairs... ” She paused, twisting a strand of long, black hair in her fingers. “He knew your name. He asked for you by name. I don't know how or why, but he did.”

 _Something is very wrong_ , Marei knew. Chataya was acting nothing like herself. _I should tell her_ , c _onfess everything, beg her forgiveness, ask her what the Lord Hand meant, what he_ wants _from me now_. “Perhaps someone recommended me,” she said instead.

“Perhaps,” Chataya echoed, her voice flat.

Marei looked down at the plain, high-necked dress she wore during the day. “I'll go get changed.”

“No need. Your clothes will serve. Here-” Chataya took off the cream-colored shawl wrapped around her neck and draped it around Marei's shoulders. “Take this.”

“We were good friends, your mother and I,” she said as they walked up the stairs. “Back when the brothel still belonged to Old Larra. I promised her no harm would come to you. The day they came for her, I swore to her I would protect you.”

 _And you have_ , Marei wanted to tell her. But her throat was too dry to speak.

“That was before Yaya was born,” Chataya added, and something about the way she said the words made Marei's blood run cold. But by then, they had reached the end of the stairs, and there was no turning back.

Inside the turret room, a man sat on the side of the bed, his arms propped up on his knees. His face was hidden in the shadow of the canopy, but Marei could instantly tell he was _not_ the Hand of the King.

Chataya bowed. “This is the girl you requested, my lord.”

“Thank you,” the man said. “Give us a moment.”

It was then that the pieces of the puzzle came together. Marei's hands grasped for the wall as her legs turned soft. She _knew_ that voice; it was etched into her memory like no other.

 _The Red Rider_ , she thought. _It's the Red Rider come for me at last._

 


	8. Chapter 8

The door fell shut behind her with a thud, and Marei did not need to turn the handle to know that it was locked. She was a little girl again, trapped in a room with her killer and no way out, only this time, he _knew_ she was there. He could _see_ her, standing by the door, her fingers clawing the shawl around her neck.

A thousand thoughts raced through her head, each as useless as the next. _If I had told Chataya, perhaps she would have let me run. We could have fled, all of us. If… if..._ No, it was too late now; Chataya was saving herself and her daughter. Marei did not blame her.

The room was spinning. She had heard people say that in the moments before death, your life flashed before your eyes, years relived in seconds. But all she could think of were the years ahead of her, all the things she could have done if only she had a little more time, a few months, weeks, _days_ even.

She took a careful step forward, trying to catch a glimpse of the man who had come to kill her. “My lord.” Her voice was thin. _I won't cry_ , she thought. _I won't beg for my life._

The Red Rider was still hidden in the shadow, silent except for his shallow, labored breathing. All she could see were his boots – those heavy boots that had been covered in mud and blood when she had last seen him from her hiding place. They were clean now – clean and almost dry.

It took her a moment, but then it hit her. He couldn't have taken the main entrance; the Street of Silk was a flowing river! _There's a way out of here somewhere, behind the wall, hidden underneath the bed, inside the wardrobe, under a rug. Only where?_ Marei’s eyes roamed over the floor, looking for a bump or a crack, anything that might reveal a trap door. She knew she had, at best, one try.

The man rose from the bed. He was older than she had pictured him, at least fifty, thick of waist, with a close-cropped beard and a balding head, dressed in a knight's tunic and a crimson cloak. And even though he towered a good head above her, the Red Rider wasn't half as tall as she remembered. There was nothing familiar about his face, and for a moment, she hoped that she had been wrong, that he was a _different_ man.

But then he spoke again in his soft, almost gentle voice, making the hair stand up on the back of her neck. “Come. Let me see you.”

Slowly, Marei took a step forward, and then another until she stood right in front of him, shaking. “My lord.” She tried a curtsy and nearly lost her balance. _Calm down_ , she told herself. _Look. Think._ The wall behind the canopied great bed was even, with not the slightest hint of a secret doorway.

The Red Rider studied her in silence, his eyes lingering on her breasts at first, appraising her like any other customer would, making Marei cling to that mad hope again that she had been wrong all along. But as his gaze wandered up, something in his eyes changed, any hint of lust suddenly extinguished. “So it is true,” he said. “I had hoped it wouldn't be so, yet here you are. Marei.”

“That is what my mother named me, my lord.” _Look. Think. There's another door here somewhere._

“Aye, she did,” the man said. “That was her first mistake.” 

“You killed her.” Marei looked him straight in the eye before turning her face. There were no rugs or paintings hung on the walls, nothing to hide a secret entrance, and the painted wood looked just as even as the floor.

The man did not deny it. “Aye, we had her killed. It had to be done. Your name… it's subtle enough; your mother was clever like that. But she could not be trusted to remain silent forever.” He sounded almost petulant when he added: “Chataya led me to believe you had died as well.”

 _Under the bed, perhaps_ , Marei thought _._ But she could not imagine the Red Rider crawling under the bed on all fours. _It must be inside the wardrobe. That's my best chance._ “Chataya may have confused me with another child,” she said quickly before he noticed where she was looking. “Many people died during the Sack.”

The man's face twisted in distaste. _No, disgust; the Sack_ disgusts _him._ “Some people died,” he said. “But we saved the city from the mad king.”

“Aye, that you did. And from his grandchildren as well.” _Keep him talking_ , Marei thought. _Buy some time._ “Tell me, am I one of them? Is that why you came for me? Is that why you're here now?” The words were meant to distract him, but the moment she said them, she knew the question meant more to her than she was willing to admit.

“You, _Rhaegar_ 's daughter?” The man scoffed. “Oh, I wish it were so. No. Granted, your father was just as mad, and he's just as dead now. Died of a pox he got from some whore, no doubt.” He took a deep breath. “I still pray for him, even though he did nothing but bring shame on our House.”

“Your _House_ , my lord?”

“Aye. My very own House.” He lowered his eyes, sighed, looked up again. “You're my own flesh and blood. When we took the city, I came to claim you as my brother's natural daughter, not to _kill_ you, whatever Chataya would have you believe.”

Marei stared at him. It was the last thing she had expected. She _wanted_ to believe him, _badly._ If this man truly was her uncle, perhaps she was safe, at least for now. _The kinslayer is accursed in the eyes of gods and men_ , she told herself. But still, something wasn't right, the way he looked at her, unable to meet her eyes, the tone in his voice. None of it was right. He was lying.

“I've come to take you away from here,” the man continued. He was sweating through his tunic. “This is no place for a daughter of House Lannister. We may be able to make you a worthy match... My brother's bannerman...”

The words felt like an icy hand closing around her neck. “Do what you must,” she said sharply, her fear replaced by anger for almost having believed him, “but don't take me for a fool. Lords don't marry whores.”

“You were born to a washerwoman in Lannisport, fifteen years ago, if anyone ever asks,” the man said coldly. “Though I doubt they will. Most people have more sense than to question my brother.”

“Your mad, dead brother?” Marei shot, surprised by the defiance in her own voice.

The Red Rider glowered at her. “My brother, the Hand of the King,” he said with as much dignity as he could muster, “And I will not have you speak ill of your own father. He had his flaws, but he is a Lannister. As are you.” He took a deep breath. “You're coming with me.”

Marei nodded. “Let me fetch a few things.” It was a futile attempt, but the man was standing between her and the wardrobe, blocking her way.

“No need. Your clothes would not be appropriate.” His face twisted again, whether in anger or disgust or something else she could not say.

“Let me say my goodbyes to the others, at least.”

“No.” He shook his head. “I cannot let you do that. You are coming with me now.”

“Chataya will be worried if I don't return.” Marei said, feeling her eyes fill with tears, a sting in her nose. _I can push him_ , she thought, desperately eyeing the wardrobe door. _He won't see it coming. If he falls, I can make it_. But her legs weren't moving.

The man's face hardened. “Chataya will know where you are, and she has much to answer for herself.”

“Please,” Marei said. Tears were running down her cheeks, but she no longer cared. “ _Please_ just let me go. I'll leave King’s Landing. I won't tell anyone that you were here or what you told me. I won't be any trouble, I promise.”

The Red Rider placed his hand on her shoulder, firmly pushing her towards the wardrobe. “You've already caused us more trouble than you know,” he said as he opened the door and slid open the back panel behind it.

 _So I was right_ , Marei thought. The secret door was inside the wardrobe, revealing a shaft that lead down, for all the good that did her now.

She nearly slipped and fell down as she groped for the ladder in the darkness, but the man caught her in time.

“Careful,” he said. “One step at a time. I'll be right behind you.”

 _I never stood a chance_ , she thought as she climbed down rung by rung. _I would have fallen to my death if I had tried to run_. Somehow the thought felt comforting. _I never stood a chance._

 


End file.
